Inked Fingers
by SiuanSedai
Summary: She tries to write, but the ink stains her fingers and she always gives up.


I wrote this for the ficvariations June challenge, so it's loosely based around the theme dark/light. Loosely.

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Separation was something that Eomer and Eowyn hated. Their parents had died when Eowyn was a small child and Eomer not much older, and Eowyn had clung to him. She'd made him teach her how to fight and ride properly, and he'd quickly got used to the small presence by his side at all times. When Eomer had his first crush it had been Eowyn who told him off for being a typical insensitive male, and when some adolescent lord had broken her heart Eomer had beaten him into the ground.

Eowyn had wanted to come with him when he was banished. But Eomer, for the first time in ten years, had refused to let her follow. If left to his own devices, Grima would quite possibly kill Theoden and take the throne for himself. He didn't want to leave Eowyn alone when Grima was there; the slimy man spent his time leering at her whenever she wasn't looking, but Eomer knew she could take care of herself. He hoped.

Eowyn watched Eomer and his loyal eored ride away from Edoras, the banners of Rohan flying in the hands of the riders. Their blond hair was blown back from their face by the wind, revealing clearly the dark tan caused by many hours spent riding out in the baking sun.

Unless they were introduced as siblings, no one who was unfamiliar with the royal line of Rohan ever recognised them to be related. They stood in perfect contrast to one another; Eowyn's almost white-blonde hair against Eomer's darker mane, her slim frame besides his heavily muscled one, even her skin was lighter than his from the time she spent inside helping her uncle govern Meduseld. Their personalities were as different as night and day, too – Eowyn was cold and reserved with a hot temper, whereas Eomer had an innate warmth that only vanished when cold fury burnt in his eyes.

Eowyn didn't believe she would ever see him again. She stood on the balcony, watching him ride away until the sound of hooves was too distant for her ears to catch and she couldn't distinguish Eomer from the other men any more. She kept watching even so, even when they turned north and were hidden from view by the seemingly endless plains, hoping that if she watched for long enough she'd see him return.

Brother and sister did meet again, at Helms Deep after the battle was over. Eowyn was furious and insulted at being made to stay with the women, and struck with grief at the death of Aragorn. Eomer had searched for her when she hadn't come to him, and eventually found her stalking back and forth on the wall of the keep. He'd started forward to hug her, then stopped in mid-motion. Their relationship didn't feel the same any more, as if there was an invisible wall between them. Eomer knew it was because he'd left her.

"You should not doubt him," Eowyn said at Dunharrow in defence of the hobbit. Eomer was surprised at the wedge she'd planted firmly between them. Surprised and hurt. He couldn't have not left. He'd been banished. And how could he have brought her with him? She knew her duty as well as he did. They'd never argued before. Not since their parents died.

Eomer didn't want to leave again. He wanted to stay and sort things out with Eowyn. They couldn't keep going on like this, they'd been close too long to just let their relationship decay. But on the third day he had to ride to Gondor, to his probable death at the hands of orcs. He didn't know Eowyn rode with him, her hair hidden and her face disguised by the helmet she wore.

He found out. He found out when he was searching for survivors. He saw her draped across their uncle's body, as cold and still as death and dried tears mingled with mud on her cheeks. He fell to his knees then, an agonised scream tearing from his lips and resonating across the battlefield as he cradled her body in his arms. He'd lost her forever.

Then Aragorn healed her. The shade fell on her face as she blinked tiredly, and the grey tinge left her face to leave her as white as a sheet. Eomer hugged her as tightly as her aching ribs would allow, and then he left. This time to certain death, the ultimate separation.

He was king now. No longer the king's nephew, free to live as he wished, but the king of a nation. He had to dress in black mourning clothes, even at Aragorn's coronation, while Eowyn was free to wear a white gown and imagine that it was her wedding dress. She finally dressed and acted like royalty, but although she looked much more like the king's sister they were so much less close than before.

It was odd how quickly they'd become so distant, Eomer thought sadly. They'd been more like twins than simple siblings before the war. Now the only time they ever met was when their respective spouses, the cousins Faramir and Lothiriel, decided to visit one another. He hadn't heard from Eowyn in two years, and he could never find the words to write a letter. So many pieces of parchment landed in the fire with only 'Dear Eowyn' written at the top in black ink that stood out so much against the bleached colour background.

Eowyn never tried to write to him, either. She'd tried a few times, but the ink had stained her hands dark and after that she gave up, accepting that she'd never find the right words to speak to him, to repair the relationship. But she was happy, and from what she had heard so was he. Maybe it was better that way.


End file.
